


不要挖 (Don't Die Digging)

by timeheist



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here comes another lonely night that I can't sleep / You know it's scary to think / How much you know about me. (AU in which Simon and River stay with Firefly for over a year, no one dies, and Inara comes back)</p>
            </blockquote>





	不要挖 (Don't Die Digging)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hecatescurse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecatescurse/gifts).



> Warning: Untranslated and unbeta'ed Mandarin.

“Alright Inara. _Wǒ zhīdào_. I'll let him know."

The intercom clicked as Simon put it down in its little hammock and rubbed his eyes. He could feel the blush rising to his cheeks. He and River had been travelling with Firefly for nearly a decade now. It only made sense that everyone knew that he and Mal were _qínglǚ_ and had been fucking for some time now but it wasn't something that anybody ever discussed and the idea that Inara had called Simon's quarters first, looking for the Captain - even though she'd been gone for six years - was embarrassing in a way that it shouldn't have been.

He was happy that people knew they were lovers, in fact, he wasn't ashamed of it at all and if he could convince Mal to go to an Imperial planet at some point in time then they could properly consecrate their 'marriage'. If you could call it a marriage at all. Book had done the honours in some back of beyond field with the whole crew out to watch, point and laugh. Mal couldn't be swayed from wearing a dress, just to annoy Simon, but he supposed he couldn't really argue, not when he'd enjoyed taking the dress off again and found out just what exactly Mal called underwear these days. What annoyed him about the whole arrangement was that the rest of the crew were still so _xuèxīng_ amused.

Over the years, Mal had become a surprisingly heavy sleeper. He stirred as Simon returned to the bed, running one hand over the man’s forehead and pushing some of his hair out of his eyes. Inara had a job to go on and she was taking River with her. She’d wanted to let Mal know that they’d need to take a detour in the morning; Wash was too tired to do it tonight (and Zoe had been calling his name anyway, in loud, rather telling tones – Kaylee’s name too) and it could certainly wait. Mal had barely slept in months. He was pushing himself too far, always digging into solid concrete that wouldn’t give. Simon would let him know in the morning.

“You big _shǎguā_.”

He knew him so well. And he’d never meant for Mal to know so much about him, so much about River. Even the details that hadn’t come through in their ‘adventures’, like how Simon liked his _chá_ , or the things he said in his sleep when he was having a bad dream. Mal’s name was one of those things, now, but it never had been before. Mal had known even before then. He didn’t talk in his sleep, at least not in enough English for Simon to follow it, only bastardised Mandarin and code words that Mal assumed came from the war. But he thrashed and he cried, the only time he ever let people see an emotion other than sarcasm or anger, and Simon often had to hold him down like he would an unruly patient.

Tonight, his sleep was gentle. Simon didn’t have the heart to wake him. They did so much for each other, and they were both getting so old. How long they would continue to have each other’s backs without bad backs and creaking knees he wasn’t sure. The emotional crutches would last longer, made of sterner stuff than human bodies and swearwords. He stroked his hands over Mal’s bare chest, sliding his body back under the covers and tracing the criss-crossing scars of the stitches that had only recently fallen out, from the last time that Mal got shot. He was starting to get shot more and more. Simon was amazed he had any blood left and was considering trying to write a journal on him.

Mal’s body reacted even in sleep, wrapping around Simon’s like a leech. His chin nuzzled – ever pointy – into the crook of Simon’s shoulder. With a weary sigh Simon closed his eyes and let him, reaching for his equally scarred hand and squeezing it gently. He was a _shǎguā_. But he was Simon’s one, and Simon would look after him. He always would.


End file.
